


Demons

by Impossiblemindpalace



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Demons, Implied/Referenced Torture, Johnlock Fluff, Other, Post-Reichenbach, Sharing a Bed, Song fic, Torture, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impossiblemindpalace/pseuds/Impossiblemindpalace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is back but something isn't right and John cant work out what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so, constructive criticism is good and grammar errors and stuff :)

Demons

Ever since Sherlock had returned he had tried to distance himself from John. They both moved back into Baker Street, but their friendship was wrong, not broken just different. John often looked at Sherlock, he was hiding something and he just couldn't work out what.

Sherlock, of course, noticed. Whenever his back was turned he could feel john stare boring into him trying to see through the "okay" facade that he put on. He had hide the truth, shelter him. This was eating him up, why he had to leave what he went through when he was gone, torture physically and mentally.

The quiet and cold evening was beginning in Baker Street, John at his laptop by the hearth tapping lightly at the keys, Sherlock doing some sort of experiment at the kitchen bench, overall a normal evening.  
But tonight Sherlock felt uncomfortable in the silence. To try and escape this he decided to shower. He set down his experiment and turned the microscope off. After collecting his things he enteredthe bathro locking the door behind him.  
As he undressed he looked at the visible part of his torso in the mirror, his marble like skin covered in imperfections of the scars. Some a discoloured pink others were lumpy or indented, depending of it was a cut or burn mostly. Most were healed and didn't hurt any more but some were still tender.  
Sherlock scowled at his vanity and got in the scalding shower and let the water run over his scared skin.

He lost track of how long he spent just standing there. But the water had begun to run cold so he got out and changed into is silk pyjama pants and reached for his dressing gown. It was not there. He scowled at the place it should be, then remembered. It was still sitting on his arm chair in the living room. He cursed under his breath. John couldn't see the scars, it would bring up questions. He wasn't ready to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about it.  
He warped the towel around his shoulders and mover quickly through the kitchen to the other side of the room and reached for his dressing gown. But in the process letting the towel slip to midway down his back.  
He hoped John wasn't looking but it seemed unlikely as he could feel that stare again.  
The even taps at the keyboard ceased as he was trying to cover his back up where he had sustained the most wounds.  
"Sherlock" John chocked out horrified at the scars that covered his back. "What..." He trailed off as Sherlock turned around almost embarrassed by it. His head down and only snuck a small glance towards John.  
"No" Sherlock said, his voice barely a whisper, but he knew John had heard. He wasn't ready for the questions.

Sherlock broke contact quickly taking his dressing gown and slammed his bedroom door.  
John had finally seen through the façade but with now more questions than answers. Hurt by his best friend that did not tell him, a doctor, that he was hurt while he was away.  
John could see the fear in Sherlock’s eyes, all the things he was trying to hide just seemed welled up behind them. His blue green eyes so innocent but had seen too much.  
Sherlock just sat in his dark bedroom, trying to work out a way to get out of the inevitable convocation. John would never let this go. He sat in the dark for a good hour before deciding to get it over and done with.

Doing the belt up firmly around his waist of his dressing gown he reluctantly stepped out into the living room where John was still sitting. He had no laptop John just stared at the dieing fire. Making Johns eyes shine bright. Behind that was pain, and conflicting emotions. Sherlock sat in his chair across from John but he didn't look at Sherlock.  
You could almost see the mixed emotions John was holding in, sadness, betrayal, anger, guilt. 

John finally broke the silence  
"Why… why didn’t you tell me?" His voice a hoarse whisper  
"Why?" He repeated a little louder. 

"I didn't want to worry you" sherlock replied simply, trying to dismiss but failed.

"When you came back, you were stiff and if you moved the too much you seemed to be in pain" he said quietly " I always thought it was just sore muscles or something but you excused yourself and changed your shirt almost always and your eyes were always red when you came back, it was because some of those were fresh" nodding to his torso “still had stitches in them yeah? And you pulled a few and it bleed on the shirt" he now almost glared at Sherlock.

Sherlock just inclined his head in a small nod.  
"Why…" Johns voice faltered "Why didn't you tell me?"  
"Because I was fine?" Sherlock said not very convincingly.  
"No, no you were and are not fine," John raised his voice. "You were obviously went through a lot, you're not the same" his voice cracking on the last word.

"I wanted to forget, go back to the way it was, so I don’t want your pity" spitting the last word like a bad taste.

"Why did you leave?" john pressed.

"I had to take dow-" 

"No the real reason" John said sternly, whist glaring.

Sherlock put his face in his hands. His baritone voice rumbling but also showing the first signs of emotion since the beginning of the conversation  
"On the roof he said he had snipers. Snipers on you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade" he swallowed deeply before continuing " Even though Moriarty was now dead they would still shoot, I couldn’t risk that….  
He took a deep breath “I faked it, to save you" emphasising the word "you" he looked back up at John sadly.  
"It was me on the pavement when you were there, I heard you, felt you trying to find a pulse, and I had to play dead." His eyes became glassy and n focussed  
"I…I saw you at my grave and asking me for one last miracle, but if I revealed myself you would be in danger again, it was bad enough the time they put you in the Semtex vest. But it's over for now but I can't relax, you look at me all the time like there is somthinng wrong, that I’m an alien. I tried to protect you." 

"I can handle it" he reassured placing a hand on his knee. But Sherlock just looked tired, like he was about to give up, lowering every barrier he ever put up and John saw him like this. For what he was at that moment, a broken man

"How do you get rid of the nightmares john?" he pleaded.

"Mostly time but sometimes it helps to talk about them…What are they about?" John asked carefully

"You" he said simply "you dieing, getting shot or Semtex or even me faking death and hearing you" 

"I'm here and I'm not going anywhere and neither are you" John giving his knee a squeeze before they fell into silence.

"Can I see them, the scars I mean" John asked cautiously looking at Sherlock.  
Sherlock gave a small nod before shrugging his dressing gown don to his waist. John gave a small gasp at the extent of them. The healed burns and cut stretched around his whole torso.

"Oh Sherlock" was all John said. Before he tentatively reached out and touched one with his fingertips. Sherlock winced and John recoiled "Sorry, I shouldn't have..." 

"No… it's ok" and John reached over again. But did not linger, touching his shirtless flatmate is definitely not what flat mates do.  
Ashamed at his forwardness he drew his hand away. “I’m sorry," John said quietly "for everything." looking at his hands.

"It's not your fault, there's nothing you could have done" Sherlock said solemnly.

"But I still feel like I could have done something" and they fell back into silence.

After a long while John spoke again. "It's getting late we should go to bed" And began to get up, but Sherlock caught his arm.  
"Don't leave me, please, John" Sherlock sounding desperate.

"What? I'm, I'm just going to bed" he stammered.

In reply Sherlock got up still holding his arm and led John to his room before letting go of his arm. "Stay" Sherlock said simply, using the puppy dog eyes he usually uses on molly. Yet these were more sincere.  
Weighing up his options and what he felt for Sherlock, John gave in and said "Ok"

They both got in the bed and faced each other, not touching but their presence was there, reassuring them.  
Sherlock said quietly "Thank you" before he drifted off into a dreamless restful sleep.

Although John won't admit it he had the most restful sleep he'd had in a long time in Sherlock’s bed. The next morning everything was back to normal, back to before the fall, they didn't discuss that night in Sherlock’s bed again. But some night’s Sherlock would creep into John’s room and then into his bed, just to hear him breath. John never said anything about it, although he would hate to admit it he likes having Sherlock there as well. 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
